November 5 Noontime Position: Lat 44deg 49,5 N; Long 178deg 12,0 E

During breakfast we crossed the international date line, and to the outside world it is Sunday, November 6 instead of Saturday, November 5. However, for administrative reasons Hanjin Copenhagen is leaving the weekend intact and will be making Monday disappear. What wonderful shipboard logic!

After a desperately dull Friday, today has brought events that pass for excitement on a long voyage. It’s been sunny, for one thing. The dawn glow blasting the containers, making their colours stand out. We also passed a container ship and an auto transport heading for North America. Bulky Lego blocks on the morning horizon. There’s also been a course change from WSW to WNW as we slalom back north to avoid a storm building to the west of Japan. And finally, rather prosaically, I’m doing laundry.

As you might expect, I’ve also been doing some reading. Earlier this week, I wrapped up a book on cities, and am now into the tense finale of the latest John Le Carre. Any tomes I finish on board will stay with the ship, which already has a fair-sized library in the Officers’ recreation room. Among all the Crichton, Ludlum and Follett titles, I’ve picked out Hemingway’s “For whom the bell tolls” as my next read. But I’ve also gleefully found an erotic novel about naughty Oxford university rowers translated into German from the original English. Here, for your reading pleasure, is a brief passage that I’ve converted back into English.

“At least we have a chance. Unlike your crew, which will probably wind up in the second division. And I’ll tell you one more thing. If we don’t end up as ‘Head of the River’, then you can spank my bare bottom – in front of both of our crews.”

Wouldn’t rowing be more interesting if it always included trash talk like this?

November 4 Noontime Position Lat 44deg 24,1 N; Long 170deg 55,7 W
Over the Chinook Trough

Last night on the bridge, the First Officer made a joke. I had asked him where the nearest land was. In his Polish accent, he answered deadpan:

“Three kilometres, straight down.”

There is nothing but ocean in thousands of kilometres all round. Our radar hasn’t even picked up another ship since we cleared Vancouver Island on Monday. And there are many more days of this ahead. We still have to cover a stretch equivalent to Vancouver-Toronto before we see the coast of Japan. Hanjin Copenhagen has been plowing along steadily at around 18-20 knots, which is about 30-35km/h, round the clock. We’re progressing at a rate of 11 degrees longitude every 24 hours.

I’m grateful for some smooth sailing now after a rough few days. Not gonna lie – even if you’re not puking your guts out, it’s hard living with peek-a-boo queasiness. Waking up feeling fine, then discovering you might need to do a preventative dry heave to avoid embarrassing yourself in the Officer’s Mess at breakfast. I’ve discovered that there is no “one size fits all” seasickness. There are different types based on the ship’s motion, and you need to get used to them all. It only offers me some comfort to hear agonized retching from the 2nd Engineer’s cabin, which is beside mine. Even experienced mariners have to bow to the porcelain Poseidon.

Anyway, the seas settled down enough that I was permitted to walk around the deck today. So I put on my hardhat, winter coat, and gloves and headed out for a stroll. Under a groaning canopy of steel containers, a vast dull blue panorama of rolling sea unfolds. Peering over the edge, I see a film of white spray as well as a thin layer of brilliant icy blue bubbles. The soundscape is the engine’s constant rumble and a long, slow, irregular crash of a wave breaking on the bow.